Incomplete
by Samantha Gold
Summary: Buffy and Angel meet at a little restaurant halfway between Sunnydale and Los Angeles as they planned to at the end of Flooded and Carpe Noctem. I think this is my first complete non-total-fluff B/A fic! Though it's not much of a romance...


Incomplete by Samantha Gold 

**Incomplete  
**by Samantha Gold

**Disclaimer: **Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Wheddon. I own nada.  
**Feedback: **It would be nice. I think my writing style has improved since I last wrote in this fandom. Has it? It would be nice to receive other opinions.  
**Spoilers: **Up to Flooded and Carpe Noctem

The restaurant was quiet, empty in the later hours of the evening, when most people had finished their meals and moved on to new locations, such as clubs, bars, or simply gone home to bed. But it wasn't too late for the young woman just arriving, nor for the man who awaited her, sitting at the pretty table for two.

"Angel," she whispered as she approached the table, entering his line of vision, though he had sensed her long before he could see her.

"Buffy." His voice was hoarse and he rose to greet her, almost unable to believe his eyes. "It's…it's really you."

She pressed her lips into something that should have passed for a tight smile. "It's me," she agreed. "…Or so everyone keeps on telling me…"

He motioned her to sit down and she did. He quickly followed, returning to his seat. "How long?" he asked.

"Three weeks."

"Where…where were you?"

"Mostly at home, sometimes the cemeteries. You know, the usual slayer locales."

"That's not what I meant," he said quietly.

She sighed. She should have known he would want to know…but no one had really been interested in asking her before. They all had their theories, thinking her soul to have rested in this hell-dimension or that hell-dimension… Was it really so hard to believe that, after all her hard work, that the Powers That Be would let her go to heaven? Oh well, at least one person knew the truth…even if it was Spike.

"You mean when I died."

"Yeah."

"Why does it matter?"

"How couldn't it? Buffy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered in a voice devoid of emotion. "Everything's fine," she attempted to smile again. "Sunshine and roses and all that."

Angel decided to change tactics. "Willow brought you back, didn't she?"

She nodded. "She used those witchy spells of her and here I am."

"Where did she bring you back?"

"Where I was buried…"

"You woke in your coffin," he stated, remembering back to his rebirth, when he'd clawed his way through the wooden casket then forcefully climbed through the six feet of earth covering his body. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, to say the least – and he hadn't had to struggle for air. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the napkin in front of her, folding and unfolding it repeatedly. She wouldn't look at him; she hardly had since she'd arrived. "Not your fault."

He was quiet for a few moments. "How have you been taking it?"

She began to shrug once more, but felt his eyes bearing into her, penetrating as always, and couldn't resist the urge to look at him. His eyes caught hers and she felt that connection she had missed so much. Let him worry, she no longer wanted to lie.

"It's been horrible," she murmured. "I…Being buried alive was always my worst fear, you know. Or at least one of them…high up on the list, you know? And…I was happy. I was in heaven, I think. And then I wake up and I'm here – in Hell." She paused. "It's hard…"

"I know," he whispered. He reached across the table and took her hands in his before she could shy away.

She stared at their hands, connected, feeling the tingling of her skin that spread throughout her body. It started where he touched her then quivered down her arms, up and down her spine, to the tips of her toes and to the ends of her hair. She wondered when the last time she'd felt was. She'd felt anger…and pain…but joy? Love? Comfort? They all had seemed so far away.

And yet, sitting here with him, his large hands holding her smaller ones, in an affectionate if minor gesture, she felt. It was as though his soul was reaching out and touching hers through the spot where their bodies touched. Her soul, which felt so dead, was as if reanimated with him there.

She allowed him to draw her around the table in the dark corner, where she was pulled to him, her bottom finding its way onto his lap. She curled against his chest quietly; listening for a heartbeat that did not exist.

He didn't say a word and she wasn't ready to break the silence. She just needed to be there – with him, holding him.

He rested his head against hers, inhaling the scent of her hair. He didn't need to breathe, but he needed to breathe _her_. He'd managed to control his heartbreak with the months of solitude and meditation, but the feelings hadn't subsided, nor had the crying subsided. He had simply learned to tune them out, to ignore the noise.

Now she was here, in his arms, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to let her go.

"I remember," she began in a timid voice, stirring him out of his thoughts.

"What?!" he demanded alarmed. 'She couldn't know,' he thought. 'She died, but the day never happened! There's no way that she could remember the forgotten day!'

She pulled back from him, startled. "What's wrong?"

"You're not supposed to remember."

"I wasn't supposed to be brought back from the dead, but I'm here right now."

"But it never happened!"

"What are you talking about?!" she demanded, her feelings turning to anger. "I jumped from a tower in the middle of all the worlds bleeding together, got electrocuted, and _died_! They _buried_ me! I was _dead_!"

Angel fought to get a hold of himself and finally succeeded. "What is it that you remember?" he asked, his voice calm.

"I don't think I want to talk about it now," she muttered, climbing off his lap. His arms caught her around the waist. "Let go."

"Look, I'm sorry…" he whispered, but he released her. She stood where she was, not facing him. "Buffy…"

"I was happy," she whispered, repeating her earlier words. Her back remained towards him.

"In heaven?"

She nodded. His hand reached out to touch the small of her back gently. She turned to him at the gesture. "But…I wasn't complete…" her voice sounded small. "I remember being content and peaceful…but incomplete."

"Incomplete?" he echoed, his inner calm reflecting the outward calm he projected now that he realized that he had been mistaken – she didn't know, didn't remember the day.

"Like a part of me was, I don't know, missing."

"What could you possibly be missing in heaven?"

She met his eyes, feeling the warmth in her spirit created by the feeling of his hand upon her waist.

"You."

* * * * *

The autumn wind held a bite to it, but it went unnoticed by the pair resting underneath a park tree. Buffy lay in Angel's arms, comforted by his presence.

"…and it's so hard, I just don't think I can do it anymore," she finished heavily, sagging into him as she poured out her major troubles to him, from her fears of waking up buried at night to the financial trouble she was in.

"You can, you'll get through this," he reassured her.

"I can't get a loan…can't hold down a job…I can't –"

"It'll work out. Have you tried asking your father?"

"I don't want him to think I'm not fit to be Dawn's guardian…he could take her away from me." She raised scared eyes to meet his and bit her lip. "I wish…"

Her sentence was cut off as his lips descended upon hers, kissing her deeply. She felt herself melting away in his arms, the chill in her soul burning away, that untouchable part of herself finally being touched.

And as quickly as he had kissed her, he released her. "I'm sorry," he apologized immediately.

"It's okay," she said. "When you kiss me, I don't feel empty anymore. It's like that emptiness, the incomplete me, melts away and fastens to you, and I'm no longer just a puzzle with missing pieces."

"I know what you mean," he whispered.

"I feel…"

"Complete," he finished for her.

"Yeah," she murmured. The silence settled over them once again. She ran a finger along his chest absently, tracing patterns against the soft material of the shirt he wore.

"We still can't be together, you know," he said quietly, despite himself. He didn't want to say it, it killed him to do it, and yet, he couldn't help it. It had to be said.

She nodded, her cheek stroking his breast. "I know," she mumbled. She shifted to face him. "But…do you think that…maybe…someday? We could…"

"I do," he whispered, and it was enough.

She leaned forward, touched her lips to his, and then they parted ways. She left to return to Sunnydale, where she would live in her semi-feeling state for yet some time. And he departed to his city, where he would go on as if the evening hadn't transpired at all. But in their hearts, they both knew that it had. And though they remained separate, they were only waiting until the time came when they wouldn't have to be incomplete anymore.

**-End-**


End file.
